


Did My Heart Love Till Now?

by Artdefines06



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Dancing, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kissing, M/M, Shakespearean Language, Victuuri Big Bang 2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2018-11-22 06:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11374872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artdefines06/pseuds/Artdefines06
Summary: A retelling of Romeo and Juliet, starring the cast of Yuri on Ice.The timeless tale of starcrossed lovers and miscommunication. Yuuri is the youngest son of the proud Katsukis. He has spent his life becoming the best swordsman in the county, but now he yearns for family and responsibility. Victor is the only child of the wealthy Nikiforovs, and has long ago given up on love. When they meet sparks fly, but their love will sadly not be enough to save them.*now being edited, expanded, and finished





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Montague: Celestino  
> Lady Montague: Minako  
> Romeo: Yuuri  
> Benvolio: Mari  
> Mercutio: Phichit  
> Abraham: Leo  
> Balthasar: Guang-hong/Minami
> 
> Capulet: Yakov  
> Lady Capulet: Lilia  
> Juliet:Victor  
> Nurse: Christophe  
> Tybalt: Yurio  
> Gregory: Georgi  
> Sampson: Mila
> 
> Other:  
> Paris: JJ  
> Friar Laurence: Emil  
> Friar John: Michele  
> Katsuki Maid: Sara
> 
> Ideally it shouldn’t matter who plays who, the story should make sense without knowing who plays what role. The cast list is just for the nerds lol.  
> Minor liberties have been taken with the order of lines or additional content, as any director would do in a stage show. Characters have been aged up to match the Yuri on Ice canon ages. Some pronouns or assumptions have been changed to update the language to be less heteronormative. However, as it is all in the name of comedy and tragedy, I hope Shakespeare would approve.
> 
> * Edited 1/8/18 Since I am making this story longer I have split it into more chapters for readability. Chapters 1 and 2 are the original writing, chapter 3 begins new unread work.

Sara Crispino pulled her cape and skirts up to protect them as she picked her way through the mud of the cemetery behind the Nikiforov estate. She had been working in the Katsuki house as a maid her whole life and had never once stepped foot on these hallowed grounds, both out of fear and because there had never been the need. When she had gone to visit her brother, Friar Michele, in the chapel as usual she had been told to seek him out here. She could not imagine why he would be here of all places. Friar Emil had conducted the service for Victor Nikiforov's untimely passing last night, and her brother had not been a part of it.

The sun was beginning to rise but shadows still crept over Sara’s ankles, making her uneasy. She hiked her skirts higher and gripped on more tightly to the package in her arms, quickening her pace. The sooner she could deliver these goods the sooner she could get back to the safety of home.

The door to the tomb was open and torchlight poured out, proving that it was occupied by the living as well as the dead. Sara took one step inside before she wished she was back out under the fresh air and open sky again. It smelled dank and wet and of death in here, and the caskets set one upon another along the walls made her uneasy. The familiar chanting of prayer filtered through the corridor and drew her further in, reassuring her that her brother was nearby.

Sara followed the symbols of the Nikiforov family crest deeper inside until she found the most recent occupant.

The picture before her eyes did not make much sense. Her brother, Friar Michele, was knelt on his knees next to Friar Emil, bowing and praying in unison. Their deep and reverent voices blended together in a symphony of pain and comfort. They were in front of not one, but two caskets. One was the same ornate marble as those that lined the walls, but the other was a deep walnut brown and looked distinctly out of place among the others. Drawing closer Sara could see two sets of carving tools, one for each medium, laid to the side of the tomb. As her eyes adjusted to the torchlight, designs drawn in charcoal appeared on the sides of the caskets, ready to be carved out in relief. She inhaled sharply as she took in the image of the Katsuki Family Crest on the walnut casket. At the sound of her gasp the chanting faltered slightly, just enough to let her know that her presence had been noted and she would be greeted when the prayer was finished.

What had happened?

Everyone knew the story of Victor Nikiforov’s death. Yesterday morning he had been found deceased in his chambers, due to the grief of his young cousin Yuri dying and the stress of his upcoming marriage to Lord Leroy.

There were numerous rumors attached to those facts, but Sara usually dismissed them out of hand as servant gossip and moved on with her day. She had heard word of such ridiculous things as a rope hanging from Victor’s balcony late in the night, or the frankly laughable notion that he had been dancing at the ball Sunday night in disguise. Several people swore that they had seen flashes of covered silver hair and blue eyes dancing with whomever he pleased that night, but those who truly knew him quickly struck down such tales, finding them rude and outlandish.

That Katsukis had also recently suffered the loss of dear Romeo, banished to a far off town. It had been a strange and bloody week and everyone was mostly content to keep their heads down and move on in such strange times. 

The chanting came to an end followed by a loud sob from her brother, as though the prayer had been the one thing holding him together. Sara dropped her package and rushed forward to hold him in her arms. Upon discovering it was her, Michele held her tightly and sobbed even harder while she rocked him back and forth. A brief glance at Friar Emil showed that he was looking at his brother with compassion pouring out of his very being. Whatever had happened here must have been terrible to have two men of the faith so shaken like this. Eventually he calmed enough to ask her what she needed.

Sara slid her eyes to the out-of-place casket again, but was unsure how to ask what happened. She picked up the package she brought and brushed the dirt off it.

“I came to bring you a donation from the town. The baker’s children have outgrown their smaller clothes, and thought to offer them to the church should some other family need them. There are also some soaps the wife made and lemons from their garden for you. I already added their names to the prayer book at the chapel when I went to look for you earlier.”

“Thank you Sara. We will be here fasting and praying for these poor lost souls all day. There is still much to be done. We have to work together to prepare our sermons and attempt to explain this loss to the community in a way that will bring them together instead of divide them further.”

Sara was torn between wanting to leave this tomb, and wanting to find out what had happened. “Perhaps you could practice by explaining it to me? You know I will not spread the story further than these walls, and it might help organize your thoughts. I am willing to listen.”

“Thank you child. I am sure your curiosity rages as well, but I will trust that your word is true.”

Friar Emil re-arranged his robes, and Friar Michele returned to praying, his rosary clutched in his hands.

“I suppose you could say the tale began last Sunday, not even a week ago, when an old grudge between families we thought had been buried was torn open and fed fresh blood...”

 

Mila leaned against the stucco wall of the butcher shop and fanned herself with her hat, wishing she had thought to wear lighter clothing. It was hardly seven in the morning but already the sun was beating down, promising another stiflingly hot day in July. She had been sent out to ensure the freshest eggs and meats were sent to the kitchen for the feast tonight at the Nikiforov estate. So that she did not have to go out alone she had marched down the hall and dragged Georgi out of bed as well. If she could not be asleep at this hour, neither could he. Besides, who else would fetch her things when she was too tired to move?

“Georgi, get me some water from the well please? It’s too hot to for me to do it myself!”

Her companion looked over at the well, where two young men were chatting and pulling up water.

“Do I have to? Those look like some of Katsuki’s men, and I don’t want to be near them this early in the day. Sets a bad tone for the rest of it.”

Mila perked up, looking over at the well in interest. While it was too hot and early to want to move, a fight did sound like fun. It had been ages since she had been able to show off her skills with a sword and she had learned a new parry she wanted to test out on someone that didn’t know her style so well. Everyone just needed a little nudging into action.

“Just go over there Georgi - They are only a couple of dirty Katsukis; they are beneath you.”

“Ay, but I’m not a coal miner for a reason. I would rather not get smudged.”

Mila laughed hard enough to draw the attention of several folks in the square, including the two boys at the well. They seemed to confer with each other, then went back to ignoring her. She did not like to be ignored. She spoke with more volume, so that they would hear her words loud and clear.

“Come on Georgi, I’ll have your back if they wish to draw swords!”

“Sure Mila, as in you will be behind me the whole time.”

The offense she felt was minor, but she played it up much larger for her audience.

“Nonsense Georgi! I’ll push any Katsuki to the wall, whether on the street or in battle!”

Georgi grumbled. “I thought women were supposed to be the weaker sex, and that it was _they_ who got pushed to the wall?”

“Good point Georgi! Once I am done fighting the men I will be happy to push the maids of the Katsuki house to the wall, if you know what I mean.”

Mila paused and waggled her eyebrows for effect, making sure to throw her voice far enough for the next insult to work.

“Especially the Friar’s sister, with the long black hair and dark blue eyes? I could have her up against the wall all day!”

That did the trick. The two Katsukis were marching their way across the square, hands on the hilts of their swords. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad morning after all.

“Quick Georgi, draw your sword. They come!”

“Damn you, Mila! Do you not remember it is illegal to begin a brawl in the street?!”

Mila already had her sword out, but cursed softly under her breath. The Prince had declared just last summer that unprovoked violence would be cause for a night in the cells beneath the palace.

“Fine - Let them be the ones that start it. Act natural, but not too nice. We want them angry.”

“I could frown at them. Would that help?”

Mila rolled her eyes in frustration and thought hard as they approached. At the last second she stuck her thumb in her mouth, pretending to nibble at the nail in nervousness. This was going to be fun.

Finally the boys were standing in front of her and Mila could size them up. They looked young. Younger than Mila and certainly much younger than Georgi; closer to Yuri’s age. They fidgeted in front of her, upset but unsure of how to express it. Clearly the two Katsukis combined didn’t have half the nerve of the youngest Nikiforov. Pitiful. As they searched for something of substance to say, Mila remembered who they were. Guang-hong and Leo. They had each made it to the third round of the Verona Contest of Arms last season. It was a swordplay contest set up by the Prince that was supposed to be open to everyone, but ended up being such a contest of wills between the Katsuki and Nikiforov households that everyone else was too afraid to enter. Third round was not bad for as young as they were, but Mila was a semi-finalist three years in a row.

If they were old enough to carry a sword at their side in the market they were old enough to be responsible for their actions.

Casually Mila pulled her thumb out of her mouth, making sure that her nail made an audible ‘thwack’ sound against her front teeth, right in front of Leo's face. It was an incredibly crude gesture, and one of her favorites. Then she turned her hand to inspect her nails, as though nothing was amiss. The twin inhalations of breath in front of her were perfect comedy. Together they drew their weapons and leveled them, forcing Georgi to reluctantly bring up his as well.

“Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?!” Leo managed to stutter through his shock.

Mila shrugged, the picture of ease. “I do bite my thumb, _sir_.”

She made sure to draw out the word sir, letting him know she held no respect for him. Leo straightened his back and spoke with more force.

“Do you bite your thumb _at us_ , sir?

Mila looked him up and down, unimpressed with his posturing. She wanted to reach out and smack him. She wanted to teach him a lesson in manners and respect for those who were older and more talented. She wanted many things, but Georgi’s warning sat uneasy in the back of her mind. She leaned to whisper in her companion’s ear.

“Is the law of our side, if I say yes?’

“No!” Georgi hissed, probably fed up with her antics.

Uuurgh. This was so annoying. Was it so bad that she just wanted to get some energy out by schooling someone in swordplay in the middle of the market at seven am on a sunday morning?

Giving up, she dropped the tip of her sword to the ground.

“No, _sir_ , I do not bite my thumb _at you_ , sir, but I _do_ bite my thumb, _sir_.”

Unsure what to do, as they both were and were not being insulted, the boys kept their swords at the ready, waiting for further provocation. None came. After a tense moment, Georgi spoke up.

‘Do you two _really_ wish to fight?”

Leo was the first to drop his posture and his sword tip. His companion followed his lead.

“No, we do not, sir.”

Mila could feel the rest of the townsfolk in the square take a breath of relief. The danger had passed. Just then a much shorter boy, presumably a page, walked up holding bags of groceries. Reading the tension in the air he questioned what was happening.

“Everything ok, Leo?”

“Ay, Minami. We were just discussing how we are all equals, serving equal masters. No trouble here, correct?”

Mila snorted and Georgi huffed, but they both made vague noises of agreeance.

Then, Minami, brows furrowed in confusion, spoke the words that doomed them all.

“But that’s not true, Leo. My master Yuuri Katuski is the best sword fighter in the whole county! He has countless titles to prove it. The judges all agree that his counters and disarms are perfect. No one could ever beat him! Especially not a dumb Nikiforov!”

The last word had barely left his lips when he found Mila’s sword at his cheek. A hair of a second later and Leo parried the point of her sword away from the young pages face and glided his sword down the length of hers, stepping into her space to put her at a disadvantage.

Mila smiled wickedly and shifted her weight to her back foot, then forward, using all her strength to push Leo away from her. It was a move he clearly did not expect since he went stumbling back. Then the air was filled with the sound of steel hitting steel and shouts and grunts as a number of those who had been waiting at the sidelines to see the outcome of this situation jumped into the fray. It was quick and fun and she got in decent a number of hits before the goody two shoes oldest daughter of the Katsukis, Mari, came and began to break the fight up and talk everyone down. Luckily just as everyone was realizing how foolish this was, her favorite cousin Yuri came around the corner and declared war on Mari personally, riling everyone up again and pouring oil back on the flames of lunacy. He was a spitfire who fought like a tiger and roared like a lion and fighting by his side was exhilarating.

In the end it took the arrival of the Prince and several of his personal guards to put an end to the fighting. No one had died that day. There were just a few minor injuries so there wasn't much the prince could really do to them all except make speeches and promise future punishment for future offense. When he was done lecturing them all she slung her arm over Georgi's shoulder and went home feeling very satisfied with the day so far, wondering if she had time for a nap before the set-up for the feast began.

 

That afternoon the Nikiforov house was a flurry of activity while decorations were set up, wine barrels were rolled out, and food was prepared. Christophe, who usually kept Victor entertained,  was over-seeing the maids who were beating the dust out of the tapestries and carpets, and checking the less perishable dishes off the list as they were finished and set aside for later. As such, Victor was bored with nothing to do but attempt not to get his new clothes dirty and avoid his mother. Both were easier said than done since he had a habit of both wiping his fingers on his tunic and causing disturbances that upset the fair Lilia Nikiforova.

Victor was halfway to the library when Christophe ran up behind him and whispered he should hide. Victor quickly ducked around a corner into the next hallway just in time to hear his mother call out his name.

“Vitya! Victor Nikiforov where are you! Ah, nurse - where is my son.”

Victor nearly bit his tongue to keep from laughing and giving away his hiding spot. As a child Victor had forced into retirement several of the most trusted nursemaids in town before his family gave up entirely and decided he was old enough for a playmate rather than a nurse. Christophe had been assigned to the role. He was the third son in his family, and therefore practically useless since he could inherit no land and hold no titles. Christophe took great pride in his job as playmate and best friend. Even as a child he had been serious to a fault, chiding Victor for his outlandish behavior and cleaning up after him, just like a nursemaid would. As such he had been given the nickname Nurse as a joke. Now the man was twenty five years old and the moniker was still used to tease him by Victor.  It never failed to crack Victor up knowing how much it grated on his friend's nerves to hear that nickname.

His mother, however, used it in all seriousness. She lamented the fact that her family did not have a proper nursemaid. Victor had been nothing but an embarrassment to her from day one.

Despite the difficulty of the job, looking after Victor certainly was better than joining the guard, so Christophe worked hard to make sure the man was always dressed appropriately and appraised of the way he should behave in any given situation. What he could not do was guarantee that Victor would actually behave that way. At most he could keep him busy with new books to read and keep him laughing with sarcasm and the dry humor that Victor preferred. A happy Victor was a more amenable Victor, after all. No one in the whole world knew Victor the Chris did; the way a best friend and confidant can.

Which is precisely why Christophe had told him to hide. It was rare that Victor had a conversation with Yakov or Lilia lately that did not lead to someone tearing their hair out, and Christophe did what he could to help delay these occurrences. With a bow he addressed the lady of the house.

“Lady Nikiforova, Victor is probably off in the gardens or the library, and you have so much work to do. I’ll be sure to find him. You just go off and prepare for the party, no bother, no hurry. You know how he is.”

Lillia was not interested in Christophe’s excuses today.

“Nurse - call forth my son to me.”

Christophe clucked his tongue and shook his fist heavenward and put on quite a show of disapproval for his employer - Victor was proud.

“You know I have been calling after that boy for fifteen years now and it’s a miracle if he comes at all. You can keep calling for him but good luck on him answering, truly. Best you just give up. He’s so terrible. I mean he’s a wonderful man, your son, but so misbehaved. Not that he can’t behave. He can, admirably. You have taught him well. So don’t worry. I’ll be sure to bring him to you once he is found.”

The fact that Christophe was still stalling meant that Lilia was not going to budge, so Victor had mercy on his friend and swept around the corner as though he just happened to come upon them.

“How now! Who calls?”

Christophe gave him a side eye and pointed out Lilia, who was obviously standing a few feet away.

“Oh, Mother? I am here.”

Victor offered a hug, but his mother made no move to reciprocate. It was apparently one of _those_ days. He set his jaw against the rejection and got to the point.

“What is your will?” Victor would find out what she wanted, tell her no, and go on with his life.

“Nurse, give us leave awhile; we must talk in secret.”

Christophe made it a total of four feet before she called him back for his ‘counsel’. Then, right in front of Victor, as though he was not there at all, she asked Christophe how old Victor was. This implied both that Victor could not answer for himself, and worse, that she did not know his age. As Christophe attempted to be funny by waffling on about how the exact details of how and when Victor had been born and different memories he used to differentiate the years, Victor and Lillia stared each other down in a silent battle of wills. These small unnecessary shows of power had been happening more and more lately, and Victor did not approve. He might be slightly careless and interested in keeping to himself, but he was twenty seven and refused to be treated like a child any more.

It only gave him the smallest of pleasures when his mother broke eye contact first. It gave him more pleasure that Christophe kept spinning out his tales after her repeated requests for him to stop. He would have to do something nice for his friend later to make up for this.

Then, his mother asked the question he had been most dreading.

“Tell me, son, Victor. How stands your disposition to be married?

“Honestly mother, it is an honour that I dream not of.”

That was a lie of course. Everyone wanted to find someone to spend their days and nights with. Someone who could intrigue you and entice you and keep you warm in the winter. Unfortunately Victor had a slightly higher set of requirements than it seemed many of his peers did, and none of the men or women of his rank so far had met them. Those who were learned enough to read and banter had no interest in doing so, and the rest could not hope to keep up with his quick wit and sharp tongue. His mother knew Victor was more likely to upset a noble and cause a scene than to stand around acting the demure heir, so she did not force him to attend social functions after the first few disasters. Better to keep him a mystery and marry him off to some feeble-minded patrician who would help fill the family coffers.

Victor wasn’t bitter. Not at all.

Christophe made another joke. Victor and Lilia ignored him. His mother continued.

“Well son, think of marriage now. The valiant Jean-Jacques Leroy seeks you for his love. Look at him tonight at the feast and see if there is _anything_ in him you can like. Remember that you are merely seeing what he presents. There may be great things he is not showing you beneath the surface.”

For a brief second, her eyes softened and Victor wondered if  perhaps she was simply tired of caring for him in ways that only a mother can.

“Vitya. It is important that you know you share in all that your spouse will have. By having someone who perhaps not perfect, you make yourself no less.”

Victor looked at Christophe to find the man nodding agreement.

“Aye. We grow from those who love us, no matter who they are.”

The sentiment was sweet, and the twin looks of concern on their faces left Victor momentarily without a snarky comeback. Was he truly that cold to those who had tried before that people were worried about him?

As briefly as it had dropped, Lilia’s stern demeanor was back in place.

“Speak briefly Victor. Can you like of Leroy’s love?”

“I will try, mother.”

For those who cared for him, Victor could try. Even if it meant settling for less than perfect.

 

The road up the side of the cliff that the Nikiforov Estate loomed over was as smooth as it was steep. The quality of the paving flaunted the family's wealth as much as the ostentatious mansion that had stood for generations did. Even in the last remains of daylight the estate glittered with torchlight and marble statues and trimmed hedges, luring in those on the road with the promise of a good time.

It seemed like half the town was making the trek up the hill at sundown on Sunday, scattered and clumped in small groups of friends babbling excitedly about what sorts of foods will be served or which musicians might play. While the road itself was well lit by the torches each group was carrying with them, the drop off on either side of the path was dark and murky with the tops of trees forming a barrier between the world of the Nikiforov’s and the regular people who resided in the town below.

Yuuri was unsure how, but despite his many protests he has found himself halfway to a party he wasn’t invited to, in a house full of people who must surely hate him. He had his sister on one side and his best friend on the other but he still felt alone and unprotected, especially without the comforting weight of his sword hanging off his hip. Swords were not permitted at parties. His gut turned once more and he wondered if he might be sick. He could blame it on the balmy warmth, or the exertion of the climb, but he knew it was his nerves acting up. It would not be the first time. He wrapped his arms around his middle as his legs continued moving forward on autopilot. His thoughts wandered in circles. _This is a bad idea_.

Phichit must have sensed his unease because a second later his friend had an arm slung around Yuuri’s shoulders, both to comfort him and to prevent him from turning and fleeing back down the hill. Phichit truly knew him too well.

“Are you sure they won’t recognize us, Phichit? These masks don’t even cover our full faces. It’s not even a masquerade party! We will be the only ones wearing masks. Why do I let you talk me into these things? Maybe I should just go back.”

“It will be fine! I’ve convinced several other people to wear masks as well. See up there, Viola not just has a mask on, she is dressed as a man! And behind us, Julia and Feste both dressed as fools, _with masks_. It will be fine.”

Yuuri suddenly stopped dead, his legs like lead and his mouth dry.

“What name do we give when we get to the door? They are going to ask so they can announce us and we can’t tell them the truth! We are going to get caught and thrown out. The prince is going to ban us from future swordplay contests. Yuuko will see that I tried to get into one of her family parties and look down upon me even more than she does now. This is bad. This is a bad idea.”

Phichit, the traitor, just laughed. “That is where you are wrong my friend! This is a brilliant idea! You don’t realize it yet, but this is exactly what you need. A little adventure, a little deception to distract you from your melancholy.”

From somewhere in the folds of his sleeves Phichit produced a flask. He took a quick swig from it, and then passed it to Yuuri.

“Are you crazy? I can barely lie when I am sober, you want me to lie whilst drunk?”

“Yuuri, from what I have heard from several servants, you _lay_ the best in the whole castle, but only after a few drinks. So drink up! Who knows, maybe we will all find pleasure tonight!”

Yuuri felt his face turn red and thanked the stars that it was dark enough no one could see it. How did Phichit find out these things about him? To stave off the embarrassment he grabbed the flask and took a long drink himself, sputtering at the bitterness of it.

“What is this hell-broth?”

“The finest distilled potatoes from the very family who is hosting us tonight. I figured I would give back a little by endorsing their summer stock.”

“Truly Phichit, you paid for this vile concoction?”

Phichit laughed louder than Yuuri had ever heard. “Of course not! Do you know the best way to distract a Nikiforov while you filch their wares? Show them a mirror! It works every time.”

“Great, now we are going to be arrested for thievery as well. Thank you.”

Heaven help them all. Yuuri took another drink.

Suddenly his sister, who had been silently trudging along behind them as torchbearer, hooked her arm through his. It felt like another shackle holding him in place. Mari and Phichit began to move forward at the same time, practically dragging Yuuri along with them.

“Look, Yuuri, I’m your sister, I know you better than you know yourself. I know why you are really scared. Yuuko is going to be at this ball. I understand. But you know who else will be here? Everyone in the entire town. So far you have only spoken to Yuuko during lessons, correct? Alone in the sparring room? I see this as your chance to compare her to the other admired beauties of Verona. I promise you I can point out at least ten other guests far more beautiful or with more suited personalities.”  

Yuuri felt himself recoil at the thought of anyone being as beautiful or kind as Yuuko. Yuuko, who had helped him learn to balance his sword in one hand and had always made sure he had enough water and took rest breaks so he did not push himself past the point of exhaustion. Yuuko, who always had time for him even though she was two years older and had other duties to take care of. He knew that, objectively, she was not the most startlingly attractive maiden in town. Often her hair was pulled back into a tail and she had smudges of dirt on her cheeks. She was a good person though, and her presence relaxed Yuuri and calmed his nerves. Being the second child there was less pressure on Yuuri to marry well. Phichit spoke true about Yuuri becoming much more sexually promiscuous after a few drinks, although he rarely had memories of those encounters and often found out from rumors and secret love notes under his pillow. Luckily his advances had all seemed to be made toward men, so there had been no accidental pregnancies.

It had been different with Yuuko though. He could see himself raising children with her, teaching them to fight and showing them off to their neighbors. The fact that she was a Nikiforov by fifth cousins a million times removed shouldn't have mattered. His father had not been entirely opposed to the idea of them training together, Yuuri had thought that perhaps marriage would not have been out of the question either.

Yuuri had just been about to take the plunge and begin courting her when Friar Emil announced at their Sunday Mass that Yuuko would be joining a convent in another town, giving her life to charity and chastity. It was ridiculous. Everyone knew what that meant. Eligible young women did not just join the church for no reason. She was pregnant out of wedlock, and it barely took a day for the servants to spread the truth. One of his fellow classmates, a boy that often trained with them and had corrected Yuuri’s posture a million times and bullied him when they were younger had ruined Yuuko’s future and broken Yuuri’s heart in one swift stroke.

Just thinking about her made him feel sad and tingly and lightheaded. Or maybe it was the drink.

“That's a nice try Mari, but what you haven’t thought about is the fact that this is a ball. Yuuko will be dressed and made up, and then it is you who will see that she is the fairest amongst everyone. When that happens, I get to call you all the herafics...hertacits...liars.”

Mari just sighed. “Ok, fine Yuuri. Whatever gets you to keep walking up this hill, I’ll go with it.      I expect you to try to dance with at least a handful of other people tonight though, or else this entire trip was a waste.”

“This trip _is_ a waste! That’s what I’ve been saying all night! With whom should I dance? I cannot dance with Yuuko, she will surely know who I am if I get that close. Will I have to watch her dance with Takashi? Is that what hell you are inflicting upon me tonight? No, I will not dance. Hand me the torch. I’m too heavy, too weighted down with grief to dance. You two have much lighter souls than I to dance with. I will just sit in the corner and wait for our return home.”

Phichit’s arm squeezed him in comfort.

“My poor friend, you are much too gentle to be in love.”

“Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like a thorn.”

Phichit handed the flask to Yuuri once again and this time he did not hesitate to greedily gulp down the unfamiliar ambrosia that would keep him from feeling too much pain tonight.

“If love be rough with you, be rough with love,Yuuri. Have fun tonight and show Cupid that he cannot rule you.”

When Yuuri was finished the strength of the drink caused him to cough loudly enough to startle the guests around them, earning strange glances from some and cheers from others. Yuuri waved them all off and once more the three began trudging up the hill, this time in silence.

As they got closer the sky grew darker still and a chill rose up from the forest below. The air thinned out and Yuuri found himself struggling to breathe, though he could not tell if it was from the walk, or the dark foreboding feeling that crept up his spine.

“I had a dream like this once you know? We were walking in the dark through a forest and wolves came upon us, tearing us to shreds.”

Phichit gasped over-dramatically, and Yuuri knew he was in for some grade A teasing.

“Wow Yuuri, that’s brutal. I had a dream once that I was surrounded by hamsters. They had created a little hamster army and were declaring war on me. Then another time I was stabbed in the back by a kitten. Then the other night I had a dream I was turned into a donkey…”

“What is your point Phichit?”

“My point, dear Yuuri, is that dreams are lies. Meaningless. Definitely _not_ a reason to get out of going to this party.”

Yuuri didn’t know if it was the unnatural dark that swam in front of his eyes, or the sharp Vodka that Phichit had encouraged him to drink, or the anxiety that swirled in his gut, but Yuuri brought them all to a stop once again. The protests of the group that had been travelling behind them and were now forced to go around did not quite reach his ears. This was important. He had to voice his thoughts, if only for the right to say ‘I told you so’ at the end of it all.

“I apologize for my misgivings, but you know my mind and how deep and dark it can be. I cannot shake this feeling that going to this party is simply the start of a series of mistakes that will end in untimely death.”

Mari and Phichit were giving him worried looks, as though the death he spoke of might be by his own hand rather than by whatever cruel fate was guiding his life. Maybe he was being too dramatic. After all, his fears and cowardice were not their problem. Those were for Yuuri to worry about. Why should he ruin their fun tonight?

“Nevermind, sorry. Let us go and have some fun. I will not dance, but I expect you two to dance enough for me. Lead the way!”

With that they all linked arms once again, and Phichit produced a second flask from a pocket no one knew he had, and they made their way up to the beacon of light at the top of the cliff.

 

 


	2. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two lost souls meet in a liminal place and time. All is well while the music plays, but what happens when the night is over and time marches forward?

Victor was half hiding in the hallway at the top of the stairs, trading comments on all the party guests with Christophe. He generally hated these balls and made a point of it not to attend once he had turned of an age to be ogled and bargained for. It was always the same people; either merchants vying for his father’s attention and money, or commoners hoping for some fancy food and drink and a quick tryst in the stables. Victor partially wanted to go down and mingle just so he could show off his new tunic. It was nearly knee length ice blue silk imported from Florence with dark blue fleur de lis pattern running along the long sleeves, over the shoulders and down the back. There was a band of silver and blue heavy embroidery around the bottom to hold the fabric down and a braided blue leather cord tied around his waist to finish the look. He wore it with white cotton pants that were comfortable to dance in, just in case.

A familiar laugh that was not heard often enough trickled up from the crowd. He found the source of it immediately. A shorter blond head nestled safely between Mila’s red and Georgi’s brown. The were all seated at the high table overlooking the dance floor, next to where his mother and father sat; a position of status. He could see his cousin Yuri had a plate stacked high with his favorite pastries and candies which no doubt were created just for this occasion, laughing at something Mila had said.

“It is good to see Yura having fun. He is far too rigid and somber these days, so focused on those barbaric swordplay tournaments. He needs to enjoy himself once in awhile.”

Christophe, used to Victor’s distaste for swordplay, just rolled his eyes.

“Unlike you sir, he takes his family's name and reputation quite seriously. This will be the first year he can participate in the tournament, and I believe the trial of testing his skill against others and the thrill of victory _ is  _ his version of fun. I imagine it is not dissimilar to the feeling you get when haggling in the market, or outwitting your parents.”

“Must you always be the voice of reason? Can’t you just once be on my side?”

Chris put on a good show of being offended, clucking and huffing and recounting all the times he was complicit in Victor’s schemes and pranks, making Victor laugh louder than he should have. Several heads turned in their direction and they ducked back around the corner. It was a minute before they were able to catch their breath from giggling. Eventually they went back to people watching.

“Christophe, why are some people wearing masks and others are not? Was this to be a masquerade? I don’t recall. I thought this entire party was just a ruse to force me to consider John-Jack.”

“Jean-Jacques, and the masks are actually quite common. They are not cheap to make, and balls are not often, so many people like to use them when they can, whether the invitation calls for it or not.”

“Interesting. Does that not pose a threat to securi…”

His words are cut off as the main doors banged open and a man -clothed in an absolutely garish purple and gold ensemble made to resemble something the Prince himself has worn just last week- entered the ballroom with arms raised above his head and voice echoing throughout the hall.

“I heard a ball was to be held tonight! Lucky for you I hold here my invite. Here to enchant, amuse, and beguile, is your’s truly - It’s JJ style!!”

The crowd cheered and raised their drinks in response to the somewhat clever rhyme. Victor counted himself as less than impressed. The man had dropped the iambic pentameter at the end, throwing off the meter. Amatuer. Now he was tossing his hands around with his fingers in the imitation of the letter J, a play on the JJ style he supposed. With a long suffering sigh Victor asked his companion who this new arrival was. Christophe tried valiantly to hide the look of pity on his face, but Victor knew his old friend too well.

“That, sir, is Jean-Jacques Leroy. Your potential intended.” There was a long pause as they both regarded the newcomer in silence, watching him enthrall the crowd with large gestures and loud stories. “He doesn’t seem terrible, not from here at least. His hair is of a popular style, his skin seems clear and unblemished, his body fit. His family is steadily growing their wealth since moving to Verona, and the union would strengthen ties with the southern regions. You could certainly do worse.”

Victor hummed noncommittally. “Well, I won’t find out much up here, will we? Do you happen to have one of those masks Chris, and maybe something to hide my hair? It’s too recognisable.”

“Your mother said you were not to speak to him Victor, just look.”

“That is why you are going to distract her for me. Now find me a disguise so I can go find out more about the man they want to marry me off to. Quickly nurse! Shoo! Shoo!”

 

Yuri Nikolai Plisetsky Nikiforov stole another sip out of Mila’s wine glass, and tried to keep his head from whipping around the room to look at all the different sights. It was important that no one know he was quite as dazzled and interested as he felt. This was the first year he had been allowed to take part in the festivities after sundown. Always he had stayed in his room with an ear pressed against the door listening to the laughter and music and cheers, knowing that something exciting must be happening. Always the adults told him it was no big deal, just a little dancing and talking, nothing he would enjoy.

They had lied to him.

In the right corner behind his Uncle Yakov was a juggler managing five brightly colored balls at once. The servants were weaving in and out around the party guests, holding trays of slow cooked meats and rich desserts. Casks of drink had been brought up from the cellar and lined the walls on all sides of the hall. If Yuri felt like it, he could be down the steps of the dining platform and amongst the crowds of older folks who were were no longer nimble enough to dance, but still wanted to feel a part of the festivities. There, minstrels were taking requests for songs and stories and merchants were trading information and making deals under the influence of smoke and alcohol. Several people had stopped by to wish Yuri luck during this season’s tournament, and that was the best feeling in the world. Perhaps after his victory, Uncle Yakov would let him borrow the main hall hold a party similar to this to honor the family’s win.

Beyond the merchants were the younger folks. They were loud and rowdy and dancing up a storm as musicians played their best material. Yuri itched to go down and join them. He was not sure about the dancing, but he wanted to be among the surging masses, feeling the music seep into his bones and laughing at those who misstepped. They all looked like they were having so much fun.

As Yuri’s eyes raked over the dancers he noticed a small tussle in the corner. Two masked folks seemed to be ganging up on a third, trying to pull him onto the dance floor. The third was resisting quite easily, even with one hand busy holding up a burnt out torch. He dodged and ducked to avoid their arms, and even held the torch out like a weapon, fending off his friends while laughing and refusing to dance. There was something familiar about the way the man moved that tickled the back of Yuri’s mind. A memory from long ago.

The skinnier of the two friends picked up a decorated cane that someone had left lying against the wall and brandished it as a sword, engaging in mock battle with his defiant friend. They thrust and parried back and forth for a minute, and Yuri could appreciate their skill with the impromptu weapons. They were clearly trained in at least the basics. Then, in a move almost too quick for the eye to catch, the one who did not wish to dance spun around the other and swept his feel out from under him, grabbing his cane and holding both weapons up in an x shape above his head in triumph, laughing with his head thrown back as his friend laughed on the floor.

Suddenly Yuri remembered the feeling of being dazed, of wondering why his breath had been knocked out and why the sky was so blue and how it came to be above him. The man on the dance floor held out a hand to his friend and Yuri saw a ghost of a hand and a cheeky grin in front of him, mocking him and his weakness when he was but a boy. It as a memory he had oft replayed in his mind to re-stoke the flames of hatred in his heart. Whether due to the memory’s traumatic nature or the forced rememberings, the image of Yuuri Katsuki hovering above him was burned into his mind so that he could never forget.  He felt the anger and shame from that day return with a vengeance.

Yuri had just turned ten and had demanded that Yuuri Katsuki, the eldest son of the Katsuki family, battle him in a duel. Looking back now he realized it was childish and premature, but none of his peers had been able to beat Yuri, so he thought he was the best there was. Certainly a Katsuki couldn’t be nearly as accomplished as a Nikiforov, no matter the age difference.

To his surprise Yuuri took his offer of a duel seriously and humbly accepted. They faced off right in the street with everyone watching. Not two seconds later, Yuri found himself staring at the sky and struggling to breathe, wondering where his sword was. The whole town was laughing, some people already walking away to move on with their day, others staying to watch the aftermath, hoping for a good show. Yuri was humiliated. He could feel his face turning red and his eyes beginning to water. Then a hand appeared in front of him, and a smiling face was offering to help him up. There were some kind words, but Yuri did not hear them. All he heard was the blood rushing through his ears as the humiliation gave way to rage. He spat on Yuuri and ran away as fast as his legs would carry him, not even bothering to take back his sword.

To make things worse it had been his late father's sword, and he received a spanking and a lecture when he returned home without it. Katsuki had a carrier return it a few days later and Yuri had been forced to write an apology letter to the family, expressing his thanks for returning the priceless antique. It made him angry to this day because if it had not been for the Katsukis his grandfather and father would still be alive, both killed in duels.

Now that same man dared to enter his house and desecrate a Nikiforov gathering with his filthy presence. Unacceptable. Yuri was no longer ten and had spent the last five and a half years training for exactly this day. He would get his revenge on Yuuri Katsuki and make his family proud.

“Mila, Georgi, with me. Fetch my rapier. We have intruders. That masked man in the corner of the dance floor is going to die by my hand tonight and I will not apologize to him or anyone else this time.”

His friends seemed a bit confused but he held rank over them, so they scrambled to meet his request. Georgi took off in the direction of their rooms to fetch their weapons, and Mila stayed close by Yuri’s side, pulling out a hidden dagger from her boot and asking Yuri to point out the danger. He showed her the three Katsukis horsing around in the corner and they planned their attack. After a minute Georgi returned with the swords and Yuri took the first step toward his destiny.

Unfortunately a heavy hand on his shoulder halted his progress. His Uncle Yakov’s voice was louder in his ear than necessary, demonstrating how many drinks the older man had consumed.

“Where do you think you are storming off to, armed like that?”

“Uncle, Katsukis have trespassed on our property. If our foes think they can interfere with our party and make mockery of our good time they are sorely mistaken. Do not worry old man, I will take care of it.”

“Katsuki, you say? Where?”

“In the corner, by the potted plants. It is Yuuri, Uncle. That very villain that blackens my name with his existence. I seek to make him no longer a problem.”

The hand on his shoulder grew tighter, holding him in place.

“Relax, Yuratchka, leave him alone. I heard he isn’t half bad honestly, a clever and well mannered boy. He doesn’t seem to be doing anything wrong so just ignore him and enjoy the party. Smile, drink, be merry!”

Yuri pulled his shoulder free, offended that his uncle would dare ask him to simply sit by and allow this injustice to stand.

“I’ll not endure him, uncle.”

Suddenly Yakov’s eyes cleared and the mask of drunken revelry fell off of him. Yakov Nikiforov stood to his full height and looked down at Yuri, making him feel like a child again.

“He will be endured! I would not for the wealth of all the town here in my house do him disparagement. Am I the master here, or you? You'll make a mutiny among my guests!”

Yuri did not dare defy him further, but tried one more time to make his argument. People were beginning to look at them, interested in what had the host of the party so upset. Yuri could feel their eyes on him and it made his voice wobble, not sounding as convicted as he felt.

“Why, Uncle? 'Tis a shame…”

“Yuratchka - either enjoy yourself and ignore him, or go to your room if you cannot act mature enough to be at this gathering. Those are your choices.”

Once again Yuri was surrounded by tittering voices mocking him. He wanted only to defend the honor of his family, but everyone was too drunk and happy to take this threat seriously. It was disgusting.

“I will go then, since I cannot hide my hate toward that man. But know that every time I am forced to give way to that speck of dirt, it only brings closer the day that I challenge him. Have no doubt that I  _ will  _ win.”

With those words for his uncle, Yuri bowed at everyone who dared to laugh at him and calmly walked to his room with all the dignity he could muster. He had a formal challenge to write.

 

Victor found that Jean-Jacques was exactly as uncultured and self-centered as he had assumed the man to be. Christophe had found a dark blue velvet beret with a white ostrich feather, and a light blue and silver mask to match his eyes. With the simple hat and mask Jean-Jacques did not recognize him. This either meant the man had no idea what Victor looked like, or was honestly fooled by a mask. Victor would happily admit to being quite vain and the fact that the man who supposedly was asking for his hand in marriage had no idea what he looked like vexed him immeasurably.

So far Victor had fascinated his intended with stories of his pet gazebo, and made him blush by telling him what a stunning rampillion he was. While Victor was having quite a good time spinning conversational circles around the man, he was not overjoyed about the amount of times his left shin had been kicked while dancing. Not for the first time Victor wished the current style of dancing involved less jumping and kicking.

“Tell me Jean-Jacques...”

“Please, call me JJ”

“Alright JJ, tell me, which styles of dance are you trained in?”

“JJ has taken at least one lesson in all styles of dance. It is not my best attribute though. Last season I won first place at the county-wide swordplay tournament. Truly my talents lie in dueling. I have no doubt I will win this season as well.”

When would Victor ever hear the end of swordplay? Did they not realize the entire reason the Prince had set up these contests to begin with was to help them channel their savage need to show off their physical prowess into something less deadly? Victor had heard the tales from Lilia and Yakov of when blood ran red in the streets as families cut short each other’s lineages just for pride and spite. Heaven help him find someone who valued his brain more than his sword.

“Well JJ, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.”

JJ’s steps faltered, just for a second, while he thought hard about that sentence. Victor watched in fascination at the man pieced it together, word by word. Finally, JJ frowned.

“Are you insulting my wits?”

“It is difficult to insult what I have trouble finding, good sir.”

“I’ll have you know JJ is very witty, and you are a fool.”

“Better to be a witty fool, than a foolish wit.”

Once again there was a pause while JJ worked out whether or not he was being ridiculed.

“Are you a fool? A professional one? Do you live by your wit?”

“No sir, I live by the Church.”

JJ looked flabbergasted.

“Art thou a churchman?”

“No sir: I do live by the church, for I do live at my house, and my house stands by the church.”

“You continue to mock me. Lucky for you I am good spirited. You should be careful with your words. One who is not as kind as JJ might have you hanged for such insults.”

Victor was no idiot, despite what some thought of him from his style of dress and refusal to socialize. He knew a veiled threat when he heard one. On the one hand this had been very entertaining. On the other hand Victor would never accept being married to this arrogant, boorish brute.

“You know what they say JJ; many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage.”

With that the music thankfully ended. Victor bowed dutifully and took his leave, heading for the refreshment table. After that exchange he needed a stiff drink, and a serious word with his mother.

Victor was enjoying a glass of spiced apple cider to cool down after several other dances and sneaking the last of October's batch of Monte Baldo black truffles when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Someone was watching him. He quickly turned around and examined the crowd but found only a blur of colors and faces as the dancers swirled in front of him. Casually he sipped from his cup and raked his eyes over the guests, trying to not look too obviously like he was searching.

Then, just as he was about to lose his patience, the dancers parted for a split second to reveal a young man leaning casually against the wall by the potted cypress. He was half hidden by the leaves, but even across a crowded room and hidden in shadows he was stunning. The flickering torches made light play against his sun darkened skin. He was dressed in costume, looking like a pirate prince resplendent in silver and gold come in off the shore to plunder the house. The doublet and breeches he wore were tight around his chest and across his thighs, showing off a body toned to peak physical perfection. He was wearing a tricorn hat to match his outfit, but curls of black hair peeked out around the edges and down his neck. The stranger was also wearing a small cloth half mask to obscure his face, and his eyes seemed naught but two dark pools behind it, focused entirely on Victor. His arms were folded over his chest with one leg up against the wall.  He looked perfectly at ease, but Victor got the feeling the man was coiled tight like a spring. There was the distinct impression of power being held at bay, ready to be unleashed at any moment.

Then the dancers closed in again and Victor lost sight.

The feeling of panic and loss Victor felt at not being able to see his observer was instant and staggering. He felt bereft and lonelier than he had in years, as though the eyes following him had been a physical presence at his side. Victor automatically stood on his toes and contorted his neck trying to peer through the mass of partygoers to re-establish their connection. Even as his mind marveled at how a few seconds of eye contact had turned him this desperate he was searching, hoping for another glimpse. For a hair of a second Victor caught sight again just in time to see his admirer unfold himself like one of the mountain cats that stalked the hills behind the estate, all sensuous grace and deadly capability. Victor was vaguely aware of the intense way the man was staring at him, as though Victor was an oasis in a desert and his only hope for life, but it was difficult to tear his eyes away from his physique long enough to acknowledge the look. The man took one step in Victor’s direction, and then the horde of obnoxious townspeople that had invaded his home for the night cut off Victor’s view again, which was completely unacceptable. Victor was torn between stomping his foot and throwing a tantrum, and silently begging everyone to leave so he could be alone with his handsome and fascinating admirer.

Victor supposed he could do something proactive, like make his own movements forward. His feet were quite glued to the floor though, his body frozen in a state of suspense and expectation. The mysterious stranger was coming for him.

It went on like that, sudden flashes of his pursuer steadily growing closer that would take his breath away each time. In what seemed like both an eternity and not nearly enough time to prepare, the man was in front of him. For a second they simply drank each other in. Victor could feel eyes roving over his face and body just as he was taking note of every curve and edge of the man in front of him. The eyes behind the mask were still dark and ensnaring, holding Victor in place.

The music had finished and the hall once again flooded with conversation as guests found new partners and thanked those they had just danced with. Distantly Victor could hear instruments being packed up and new musicians setting up for the next set. All of that existed outside of the moment that Victor and the stranger were sharing. The sphere of awareness they found themselves in was silent, and Victor was cataloging each movement of the man in front of him. Each flick of his eyes over Victor's body, the way he unconsciously leaned in when Victor did, the hitch of his breath when Victor licked his lips told Victor more about this man and their connection than words ever could.

Then the music was starting and couples were making their way onto the dance floor. Victor watched in amazement as his admirer slipped his left foot forward and then backward in the traditional bow, requesting a dance.  Victor quickly mirrored the position, and they took their places at the end of the line of dancers nearest the musicians, facing each other. The song was a simple slow Galliard, designed to allow new partners to get used to each other’s movements. Usually Victor would enjoy watching people stumble and giggle during the dance, getting tangled in their skirts or forgetting the count and stepping forward out of the line a beat too early. This time he could not be bothered to spare a glance to even know who was dancing to his left or right, he was so entranced by his choice of partner.

The man opposite him was clearly skilled, as evidenced by the precision of his kicks and the slight flairs he added to the basic, repetitive steps. A curl of his hand or a tilt of his head made it seem as though he was dancing to an entirely different song than everyone else. Watching him dance was a delight.

Every time the lines came together for a measure his dance partner would find fleeting moments to touch Victor. A foot would brush his calf or a hand would stroke along his arm, so softly he would miss it if he wasn’t so in tune with the other man’s movements. These seemingly accidental teasing touches kept Victor feeling clumsier than he normally did while dancing. How was he supposed to think about something as trivial as keeping in beat when he was being constantly kept off balance?

Too soon the dance ended. Before Victor could ask for another dance, his partner was bounding onto the stage to whisper in the ear of the lead musician. They smiled at each other conspiratorially, and then Victor was once again face to face with dark eyes and an amused smirk. The song announced could only be accompanied by a Saltarello, a one on one back and forth challenge of increasing difficulty where one dancer would make up a step and the other had to copy it and then add on a bit more. Immediately many couples bowed out, unable to keep up with the quick pace and competitive nature of this dance.

His partner simply raised his own fingers to his lips, kissing them, then offering the hand to Victor - both a question and an invitation. Victor was sure he blushed and hoped his mask hid the evidence of his state of perpetual fluster. To even the playing field he copied the motion, a gesture he had done hundreds of times with other partners yet the significance of the symbolic kiss had never held much meaning for him before. This time he held his fingers against his lips a few seconds longer than socially acceptable, hoping his meaning was clear.

_ You are dazzling. Your presence leaves me speechless. I would dance all night with you. _

Then their hands came together and brown eyes met blue, and Victor could see the answer in his partner’s gaze.

_ I couldn’t resist you. You intrigue me. I don’t want to leave your side. _

His partner’s grip was strong and sure and gave Victor the needed boost to snap out of his bewilderment and focus on the dance at hand. The music started up in earnest and Victor was delighted to find that their movements matched breath for breath, beat for beat. The strange awareness that they shared of each other’s bodies leant itself to knowing when to give and when to take, so there were no kicked shins or awkward transitions. As they flew through the opening steps Victor could feel a large smile permanently affixed to his face, and there was undisguised mirth in his partner’s eyes.

The first stanza of the song came to an end and Victor was reluctant to let go. This section of the dance required space between them, and Victor was eager to test his skill against the other man’s, so he disengaged and waited for him to make the first move. His partner began the set with the same basic step, but repeated twice in double time. Victor easily duplicated it, then added a hop and a pivot.

Each iteration became a four count longer, but where Victor would usually begin to tire and become lazy, this time he felt excited and determined to win. Watching his partner was fascinating because no matter what he did, the other man blended the steps smoothly together in one unending, flowing sequence that looked like it had been crafted by the finest dance master. Sometimes Victor began the sequence a beat too late because he was so busy marveling he forgot to move.

As they reached the middle of the song and were running out of new moves to add on, Victor found his partner suddenly directly in front of him. He was interested to note that the man was a few inches shorter than himself, but that thought was soon driven from his mind as unimportant when the man put his hands around Victor’s waist and hoisted him onto his hip. He spun them around half a turn, then placed him gently back on his feet and stepped away. He had a wry grin on his face and an eyebrow lifted in amusement at Victor’s reaction, which was probably gaping like a fish. So he was going to add partnering moves, was he? Victor could play that game as well. Repeating the sequence meant it was his turn to step forward and lift, but he took special care to slide his hands into place slowly, accidentally allowing a thumb to slip under the man’s doublet to find a sliver of silken skin. He was rewarded with hearing the man’s breath catch and watching his eyes grow darker and hungrier. Victor topped it off by running his hand down the other man’s arm from elbow to wrist, then placing their palms flat together and initiating a circular step where they orbited around each other, palms touching at all times.

Never before had simply touching palms seemed so sensual and thrilling.

The dance only escalated from there, and when it was over Victor barely got halfway through his bow before his hand was taken once again and he was being dragged through the crowd to the darkness of the gardens behind the stage.

That wouldn’t do at all. There were too many guards patrolling the outside, and if his mysterious masked man wanted a moment alone it would be short lived. A quick tug was all that was needed to get the man to follow him instead, down a hallway and around a corner to the rooms where his father conducted business. The guards would either be stationed outside the mansion to patrol the grounds, or upstairs where the personal quarters were, so they should be safe here for a while. Victor’s mind was already flying through excuses and plans for what to do depending on who found them and what state they were in at the time. Those thoughts ended when Victor was yanked to a stop and spun around. He tried to speak but found his back against a wall and his vision full of dark eyes and pink lips. The man moved into Victor’s space, leaving hardly an inch between them, and pulled off his own hat, allowing the dim torchlight to reveal thick black hair and eyes that were larger than the moon and the rich brown of ground cinnamon. He then lifted his hands to remove Victor’s hat as well, moving slowly and asking permission with his hesitance and his eyes. Victor nodded slightly and felt his hat drop to the ground to accompany the other. Then there were those same strong sure hands carding through his hair and nails lightly scratching at his scalp and he felt his knees weaken, hardly holding him up any more. He sunk down so they were equal heights, eyes drinking each other in.

This was probably the point where Victor should say something. Initiate conversation. Find out who this person was and introduce himself as well. Hope that the man wasn’t a simpleton or a foreigner. He found himself unable to speak though, partially due to his fear that the man would be made less than perfect after speaking, and partially because the hands that had been running through his hair were now sliding up and down his neck, across his collarbones, and down his chest on a journey to map his features.

This was ridiculous. Was he really going to let this stranger have the upper hand the whole night? Was he, _ the  _ Victor Nikiforov, who was known for his quick wit and aloof persona, going to let himself be won over so easily? Was he nothing more than a bundle of nerve endings and discomposure?

Just as he was mustering the strength to resist or reciprocate or do anything but hope that the wall behind him continued to hold him up, the man who was wreaking havoc with his mind and body spoke.

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

He. That. Words. Good words...

Victor shook his head slightly and tried again to deconstruct that beautifully structured sentence. Was this what other people felt like when he spoke to them? This dizzying thought that the words had passed right over your head and left you with nothing but a feeling you were missing something vital?

No, he just wasn’t concentrating hard enough. He could do this.

The man was asking if his hands, probably unworthy of touching Victor, were being disrespectful. In return he was offering to kiss the spots his hands had touched to make amends. All at once Victor could practically feel the man’s phantom lips cascading down his neck and across his bare chest and he nearly swooned from the imagined scenario. As it was he could feel the body heat between them and wanted to pull the other man close, line their bodies up, and be completely surrounded by him.

Stop! Words. Metaphors. He could do words.

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much.”

There, he had let him know that his hands were not profane or unwelcome. He had accomplished words, and they had been well received as evidenced by the amused chuckle that escaped the other man. Victor had to find a way to get the man’s hands to stop roaming his chest, so that he could think straight for this exchange. Gently he took them in his own and once more matched their palms together. It felt just as amazing as it had on the dance floor.

“For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.”

Really, they shouldn’t kiss. It would be too much. Victor had never been one to have casual romps with strangers. He knew his position in the family was too easily manipulated if he made someone believe he had promised them too much. It would be difficult to fight in the courts, and his parents were too eager to marry him off anyway. Best that they keep to hand holding and maybe a few profane touches until they got to know each other better.

Then his hands were lifted and brushed by soft lips, each inch of them covered in tiny hot kisses that made the air more difficult to breathe. His partner spoke again, trying to convince him otherwise.

“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

“Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; they pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

Victor could hear the hidden plea in the man’s words.  _ Please, let me kiss you. I will live the rest of my days in misery if you do not allow me to. Please. _

The man leaned in closer, only a breath of space between them, and Victor knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“Saints do not move.” Victor reminded the man, as a last ditch effort. At least he could say that he tried to resist the absolutely magnetic pull the man had over him.

With one last wicked grin the man closed the trap he had created with his words, effectively ending the argument.

“Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.”

With that last line he closed the distance between them, giving Victor the thrill of warm muscle against his front and cold unyielding stone against his back. Then there were lips against his, tender and undemanding. They hovered, barely brushing against Victor’s lips once, twice, three times. Each time lasted a second longer, and each time Victor chased the lips when they left his, making an annoyed whine when his partner pulled back at last and bestowed him with a triumphant smile.

The man spoke again, remarkably well put together in a situation that was making Victor tremble and stutter.

“Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.”

Victor knocked his head against the stone behind him. He was frustrated with himself for being so infatuated that a smile and a light brushing of lips could make him burn and want and wish. He was frustrated that this man seemed to be everything and nothing all at once. Clever, nimble, handsome, gentle, strong. Victor had a million words to describe him but no name. There had to be a catch - there always was. He could not help but voice his fears, his mistake.

“Then have my lips the sin that they have took?”

A feigned look of shock crossed the other man’s face. Still holding Victor’s hands, he lifted one to his heart in pretend hurt.

“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again!”

Then Victor was once more being bombarded with sensation, but instead of gentle this time it was insistent, tongues and teeth and the taste of liquor and chocolate and sin and heaven, and Victor sunk down a few more inches along the wall in its onslaught. He could do little more but open up and let the other man in; to feel what it was like to be wanted and cherished.

Once again the man pulled back, and in his self satisfied grin Victor found the motivation he had needed to push up off the wall and reverse their positions, taking the kisses he so wanted and not allowing his partner to pull back any more. Victor knew his efforts were less controlled and seductive than his partner’s, but judging by the gasps and light moans coming from the man below him, Victor was doing just fine. He took and took until he was lightheaded from lack of oxygen.

That was when he heard the footsteps and the all too familiar call of Christophe's ‘Vitya!’ behind him. It seemed his time in heaven was at an end.

 

They broke apart to catch their breath when the man Yuuri was not finished kissing (ever) suddenly tensed and let out a very ungentlemanly curse. Yuuri looked over his partner's shoulder to see what had upset him, but was barely able to catch a glimpse of a tall man with a halo of blonde curls angrily striding down the hallway before he was unceremoniously shoved into a room with a door slammed in his face. He pressed his ear to the door but it was solid and well constructed and he could hear nothing but indistinct mumbling followed by the sounds of footsteps walking away from him.

Trapped alone in what seemed to be some sort of study, Yuuri had the space to think about his actions for two seconds. Ever since he had laid eyes the elegant man who had been wasting his time dancing with that buffoon JJ, Yuuri had felt out of control of his own body.

Granted, he had been more than a little intoxicated when he had first caught sight of the vision in blue descending down the stairs to the ball. The party had been going for several hours already and Yuuri’s blood sang with vodka and chocolate tarts.

Yuuko had not been spotted at this ball. Perhaps she had already been showing. Perhaps she had already been sent to an unnamed town where Yuuri would never find her. Yuuri had spent his time trying not to imagine what her children would look like dressed up in their finest and dancing at this very ball. Drinking more helped, until finally he was at the fuzzy point where sounds and colors began to blend together, creating a kaleidoscope of sensory input that made it easy to zone out and kept him from thinking about his woes.

Then his masked angel appeared from thin air and Yuuri had been drawn to pale white skin and ice blue eyes and delicate features in a way that was as unavoidable as it had been terrifying. Yuuri had watched as the man weaved his way through the crowd, blessing those around him with a wide smile and musical laugh. His body was well built for dancing, all long limbs and perfect poise. There was an impression of refinement that spoke of wealth and good breeding, tempered by a sense of humor that was evident from the way his eyebrow would rise and his words would leave the people he spoke to unsettled.

The man had looked so bored and frustrated in JJ’s arms and it had begun to itch under Yuuri’s skin. Watching them together made Yuuri re-think his refusal to continue to participate in the swordplay tournaments. Last year he had declined his invitation and JJ had taken the title that Yuuri had held six years in a row from him. It would be child’s play to win it back. Yuuri could dedicate it to the charming stranger. Would that earn him a smile? Yuuri had wanted to make the man smile. He had wanted to be the _ only  _ one to make the man smile.

Finally the man stopped dancing with JJ to begin dancing with other guests who also weren’t Yuuri and the itch grew and grew. He knew that same itch had led him to make poor decisions in the past, and that seducing someone here in the den of his enemy was not a brilliant idea, but the drink made it difficult to care. When the object of his focus finally took a break from dancing get a drink Yuuri was fighting to keep his back stuck to the wall. He was safe as long as he stayed where he was.

Half a second of sustained eye contact ruined all resolve and Yuuri was making his way across the floor as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself.

Dancing with that enchanting nobleman had been torture and reward and challenge and Yuuri could have done it all night. He had never felt this way working on footwork with Yuuko. There was no comparison.

It was the lift that had been his undoing. He really should have thought that bit out more. Having his hands wrapped around that slim waist nearly snapped every ounce of control he had. When his partner took him by surprise and took the lead and returned the favor Yuuri thought he would die if he didn’t have this man pressed below him and crying his name. As soon as the dance was over he had sought out the darkest corner, not caring what the people watching them thought.

It should probably have occurred to him that the reason his partner had changed their direction was because he was familiar with the house, but really Yuuri had been beyond coherent thought at that point. Now he was pacing the floor of a room he definitely would not be allowed into if anyone knew who he was, and he had to come to terms with the fact that he had been shoved there for a reason. Luckily the effects of the alcohol were slowly wearing off after the exertion of dancing, and Yuuri was able to think somewhat clearly.

What did he know about this situation?

The man was well dressed, well learned, and trained in dance. All of those things spoke of nobility. He had certainly never seen this man before - he would have recognized the clear blue of his eyes anywhere. They were so much brighter and more beautiful than the normal dark blue and green of the Nikiforovs that Yuuri held a slight shred of hope he was unrelated to them. Maybe a foreigner from out of town, or a distant relative visiting shortly. Whatever it was Yuuri would have to find out quick, before they left again. Minako would be upset if he had to leave to marry, but Yuuri was willing to accept her tears for his own happiness. He could always come back to see her a few times a year.

The thought of marriage made him giddy and he nearly burst through the door with impatience when it swung open in front of him, revealing the blonde man that had interrupted the best moment of Yuuri’s life. This man was also currently looking at Yuuri like he was a speck of dirt to be wiped off the floor and thrown into the garbage. He handed Yuuri his hat, which had fallen to the ground, and lifted an arm to the open door as a clear sign that Yuuri should take his leave.

“The hallway is clear. Try not to speak to anyone on your way out. You two have drawn enough attention as it is.”

Yuuri felt his hackles raise and had to bite down his usual defensive retort. This was someone who might know the identity of the man who held Yuuri’s future in his hands, so Yuuri had to be on his best behavior.

“Pardon me, but do you know that man?”

“Know him? I helped to raise him. I am his caretaker, which is why I sent him to his mother, and far away from you.”

“Please, sir, tell me who that man was. I must know if I am to court him.”

For half a second surprise flitted across the blonde’s face. It was quickly covered by distrust.

“Many wish to marry him, for whoever marries that man will be rich.”

The money would please Yuuri’s parents, but Yuuri could not care less. Money could not buy you sparks crawling across your skin at a simple touch, or interesting conversation late into the night.

“I care not. I ask again, what is his name? Who is his mother? Please, I beg of you!”

Yuuri held himself tall and prayed to God for this one thing while the man across from him stood silently in judgement, deciding if he was worthy. After an eternity the man broke, shoulders sagging and head shaking back and forth. The words Yuuri was waiting for were spoken low and slowly, and wrapped poison tendrils around his heart.

"Sirrah Katsuki-"

Yuuri's breath caught in his throat. He had been found out. All this man had to do was call the guards and Yuuri would have a difficult time explaining his presence...If he was allowed to explain at all. The caretaker continued, without calling the guards.

“His mother is the lady of the house, Lilia Nikiforova. She is a good and wise and virtuous lady but…”

The rest was unspoken, but understood between them. Yuuri could physically feel all hope slip away. The object of his affections was none other than Victor Nikiforov, the elusive recluse and solitary son of the Nikiforov house. Yuuri’s parents would not have it. Victor’s parents would not have it. For all Yuuri knew, if Victor found out who he truly was Victor might not want anything to do with him, no matter what they had shared here tonight.

The odd thought occurred to him that Friar Emil would have been over the moon to unite the two families at last, and the image of the marriage that could have been pained him all the more.

He nodded in understanding and once more affixed his hat on his head to hide his identity, and made his way dejectedly back into the fray of party-goers to find his friends and urge them to go back home, where they all belonged.

 

Christophe found Victor once again hiding at the top of the stairs, watching over the festivities as they wound down. The look of wistfulness and hopeful optimism on his face nearly broke Christophe’s heart. For so many years he had watched Victor struggle to connect with those around him. Before he could say anything Victor turned to him.

“Christophe, who is that saying goodbye to father, with the feather on his hat?”

His tone was nonchalant but Christophe could read the tension in his shoulders and see the excitement in his eyes. So that was how Victor would play it. He would play along.

“That is Seung-Gil Lee, a merchant from Asia. He is trying to sell new spices through your father.”

“What about that man stealing snacks from the refreshment table?”

“Morooka Hisashi. He writes for the local paper.”

“Interesting.”

Christophe watched as Victor zeroed in the the person he had truly been looking at and wondering about this whole time.

“What about the man by the door who refuses to dance the final set?”

Sure enough the very same man Chris had spoken too just a few minutes ago was sulking by the door, waiting for his friends to finish the last dance and accompany him home. Chris could not help his scathing response, his words biting and cold. He was just so angry with Victor for being thoughtless and for putting himself in this position in the first place.

“You mean the one I found you wrapped around in a dark hallway? Don’t you think you should have found out his name prior to getting to know the rest of him so intimately?”

An apology or look of shame would have been acceptable, but instead Victor giggled. What was Chris to do with his charge? How was he supposed to make him understand the gravity of this situation? Recklessly being intimate with a stranger was never acceptable, but especially dangerous on the evening of a party where anyone could see, and on the night he was to meet his probable fiance no less. At some point Victor had to get serious about his future.

Then Victor took his shoulders and looked at him with the most serious face Christophe had ever seen on the man.

“Please Christophe, you have to find out who that man is. If you don’t I might never see him again, and then my wedding bed may as well be my grave. I don’t want to marry anyone else. I would rather die alone.”

Oh. That was unexpected. For the second time that night Christophe found himself momentarily stunned. Marriage? Had Victor Nikiforov just willingly brought up marriage? The other man had also spoken of marriage before Christophe had told him the truth. Could there be more to their connection than temporary lust?

For a second Christophe became excited at the prospect of happiness for his dearest friend. Then he remembered that Victor did not know. No one else ever could. It was up to Christophe to shatter his poor friend's dreams. With a heavy heart he spoke the truth, willing Victor to understand.

“His name is Yuuri, and he is a Katsuki; the son of your great enemy.”

Victor's face ran through every emotion possible in that moment. There was an anger at the forefront, but Christophe could see the hurt underneath it. Together, silently, they watched as Yuuri walked sullenly out the front door flanked by his two merry friends. Briefly Yuuri turned around to search the crowd one more time but could not see them in the shadows of their hidden alcove. The disappointment on his features was evident as he turned and left. Victor did not move until they were out of sight. Then he spoke again, a murmured rhyme under his breath.

“My only love sprung from my only hate. Too early seen unknown, and known too late. Prodigious birth of love it is to me, that I must love a loathed enemy.”

Love? Love! They could not have known each other for more than a few dances! Christophe had begun to search for Victor the second he noticed them disappear from the dance floor, and it had hardly taken two songs to find them. Less than an hour all put together. His charge was staring angrily at a crack in the wall, as though it alone was responsible for the situation they were in.

“What’s this, Victor! Love?”

Victor startled out of his reverie at the question and put on a sad smile.

“It’s nothing. Just a rhyme I read somewhere. Come, let’s to bed.”

Christophe wanted to say something, anything to make the circumstances better. He could think of nothing and Victor was already halfway down the hall and pulling off his clothes as if they burned him.

Perhaps there was nothing that could be said at all.


	3. Fools Rush In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to be together, but incapable of parting, two lost souls who have found each other decide their fates.

 

Yuuri trudged behind Phichit and Mari, barely hearing their traded tales of the evening as his feet moved slower and slower; it was as though there were chains wrapped around his ankles, keeping him from escaping his enemies lair.  His encounter with Victor Nikiforov had been ethereal, like a dream, and the farther from the light of the Nikiforov house Yuuri walked, the more the evening began to feel like exactly that. Yuuri would have to go home and bury his heartbreak and pretend he did not know that such a perfect being existed within reach. He could tell no one of his taste of the life he could have had. He would be forced to relive the memories of chocolate flavored kisses and know he would never experience their like again. It would be the worst torture imaginable. He simultaneously wanted to be as far from his pain as he could and back in Victor’s arms, dancing and kissing and speaking sweet nothings and making the most beautiful man in the world his.

Vaguely, Yuuri realized his feet had stopped moving forward. Up ahead he could make out the fuzzy shapes of his friends, turned around and looking for him. To hide from their searching Yuuri slunk into the shadows of the wall that kept travelers on the road out of the private gardens that stretched in front of the Nikiforov estate. The wall was overgrown with thick vines and branches, and with a few well placed steps and a heft up and over he was on the other side where no one could find him and drag him to a place called home that he did not wish to go.

How could he go forward when his heart was here? He was not ready to leave. Just one more look. If he could just make his way back in and see Victor one more time he could live. If he could touch him again, Yuuri knew he could thrive. Maybe Yuuri could just live here in the thick overgrowth of the garden edge, sneaking glimpses for the rest of time. It might be enough.

The heady aroma of roses and night jasmine hit Yuuri as he crept further into the gardens, and he could only think that the scent was nothing compared to the warm and enticing fragrance he had found on Victor’s neck, right below his adams apple at the beginning of his collarbone. That was where true heaven lie.

Even as these thoughts made him realize that he was still a bit intoxicated, his feet brought him stealthily toward his fate. With more than half his thoughts dedicated to the simple feeling of Victor’s hand in his and the rest fixated on Victor’s sparkling blue eyes, Yuuri was still aware of the positions of the few guards. He avoided them with with an ease borne of sneaking out of his own home to wander as he wished during the night ever since he was a child. It was a habit his mother despised as it could not ensure his safety, but he had long ago decided that the freedom to think away from the castle was more vital than her piece of mind.  

Yuuri knew he could not go back in through the front door, but he could see several back rooms with lights pouring out of the windows into the dark garden. The upper floors where bedrooms usually were kept still had people moving about and lights on, but the lower levels were dark and silent. Perhaps there he could find a loose window and sneak through to the central ball. The party was sure to run a few hours more and if his mysterious partner was truly Victor Nikiforov, than propriety dictated he should to be there to say goodbye to every last guest. It was Yuuri’s only hope. Perhaps with a proper goodbye he could survive the rest of his life.

Yuuri chose a dark patio and began to swing his leg over the low wall when a rush of movement and voices had him ducking back down into the bushes. He couldn't make out the words but the deep voice and cadence reminded him of someone. The pompous lilt rang out once again and Yuuri identified the voice - the man who claimed to be Victor’ caretaker. The man who had swiftly and easily shattered Yuuri’s every hope and dream.

A brief peek over the wall showed the room in front of him was still dark, but the window above had been opened, presumably to let the night air in and freshen the room before he retired for the evening. Who was he speaking too though? Was he talking about Yuuri? For his own safety Yuuri listened closely to find out if his identity had been revealed to anyone of importance; to discover if his life was in danger. The speaking dulled to whispers so Yuuri backed away to get a better angle to view the rooms occupant. What he saw took his breath away.

Victor stood half dressed, only loose cotton pants covering his legs. His back was to Yuuri, but what a back it was. Long and pale and lean and bathed in the warm amber of torches. His shoulders wide and soft, and his neck long and graceful like a swan. Yuuri could just make out the barest profile of his face as Victor turned slightly to check something. All too soon the accursed caretaker swooped in with a long robe made of the finest silk Yuuri had ever seen in shades of light violet and snowy white. Victor began to turn and Yuuri ducked down once again, trying to gather his wits and his breath and calm the blood that was now raging through his body. How could a simple reveal of skin have such an affect on him? He wasn't worthy of seeing such a magnificent man.

Victor then appeared at the window, leaning out into the night and searching the darkness as though he knew something was out there for him. Yuuri’s entire being froze. He dared not take a breath for fear that his presence would be revealed. The Nikiforov’s may have been kind enough not to kill him for attending a party, but spying into a family bedroom from a private garden was certainly a death sentence. Yuuri was far too busy thinking about Victors bare skin to be able to fight off guards right now. He didn’t even have his sword. He now had far more than he had come for. He should leave - Victor was going to bed and there would be no proper goodbye at the front door as he had imagined. He only risked harm upon both of them by being here.

A heavy sigh from above kept him rooted in place. If he stayed for just a minute more he might get to hear Victor’s voice again. It was worth the peril.

Yuuri chanced the briefest of glances toward the window and found that Victor was staring out over the gardens with a look of bleak despair that could only match the dark feeling in Yuuri’s own heart. Victor did not speak, but his eyes wrote entire volumes with their clear sorrow. Yuuri longed to speak to him, to reassure him and comfort him and banish whatever thoughts were making him look so forlorn. With a pang to his heart he reminded himself it was not his place. Who was to say that Yuuri even could, or that the things Victor looked sad about had anything to do with their evening? It was best if he just stayed silent and hidden, basking in Victor’s mere presence. Yuuri watched him and tried to commit to memory the sparkle of his eyes, like two stars, and the glow of his skin, brighter than the moon. He made the wonder of nature pale in comparison.

Victor muttered some small words of grief and reclined against the window frame. His hand lifted to his cheek and Yuuri suddenly wished he could be a glove just so he could once again brush Victor’s cheek, which had been flushed with desire when he had last held it in his palm.

He was so caught up in his fantasy of being a glove that he had nearly missed the first words that clearly left Victor’s parted lips, ringing out into the clear night.

“Yuuri, oh Yuuri!”

It was only the utmost control that kept Yuuri from jumping onto the air at hearing his name. Victor was still thinking about him; he had not been immediately been forgotten.

“Why do you have to be Yuuri, of all people? A Katsuki! What even is a Katsuki? What makes you any different or worse than anyone else?”

Yuuri didn’t have the answer to that. Technically Victor wasn’t even speaking to him, just about him. Should he answer? Reveal himself? Perhaps he would, in time. Instead he simply sat in the loose earth amongst the roses and waited for more of Victor’s words.

 

With another sigh Victor leaned against the column once more. No amount of sighing and leaning dramatically was making him feel any better though, the way it usually did. Even the scent of the roses, which usually calmed him, only riled him up. It didn’t matter what roses were named! Their sweet scent was not affected by what one called them. So why should his sweet and wonderful Yuuri be so tainted by his name? It was ridiculous!

He could tell he was mumbling his thoughts aloud angrily but it could not be stopped. It was just so unfair. He knew his parents and they would not even hear of so much as a mild trade agreement with the Katsuki’s, much less a courtship of their only son to their youngest heir. Mournfully he voiced aloud the thoughts that ran around in his head. Things that would get him nowhere since his only audience was a cynical Christophe and the roses in the garden below - both of which he would always trust with his silliest thoughts and darkest secrets.

“Couldn’t Yuuri just renounce his name? His family? His everything? He would still be the same magnificent person. Or maybe I could take his name for him. Victor Katsuki. Sounds perfect to me. I will take all of it for him and he will not have any Katsuki left. He could have a new name. Love? My Love? Yes, I like that. I will be Victor Katsuki and he will be My Love and everything will be fine.”

“Sounds like a foolproof plan.”

Victor was not too proud to admit he jumped out of his skin at the sudden words from the dark. He spun around but Christophe was no longer in the room - probably off fetching the hot milk Victor had requested. Someone had certainly heard Victor’s words and responded. A phantom? A guard playing a cruel joke?

“Who’s there! Name yourself”

“My name is hateful to me and an enemy to you. Instead call me Your Love, and I will be newly baptized.”

The words were whispered quietly and quickly from someplace out in the garden, but Victor hoped against hope that they were from who he believed they were. He had barely spoken to the man before but who else could be so quick witted and smooth of tongue.

“Are you Yuuri? Are you truly a Katsuki?’

There was a long, heavy pause. When Yuuri’s voice, now coldly serious, reached out of the darkness once more, the words stopped Victor’s heart.

“If you want me to leave that badly, than let them find me. There is little point living if you don't want me by your side. I would rather die quickly than live life prolonged, wanting of thy love.”

Victors mouth opened and closed half a dozen times, unsure how to respond. Surly Yuuri’s feelings couldn’t run that deep. They had just met, spent less than an hour together. Yet wasn’t it he himself who just a minute ago had been pining and wishing for this very man to forsake his entire family just so they could be together? Was Victor true in his own feelings or was he just high from the sensations that had traveled across his skin when touched?

He had so little experience in these matters of the heart. His parents were distant at best and neglectful at worst. He had not been able to fumble around in the dark like the other teens due to his position in the family. The only one he could say he had any experience with, both in love and lust, had been Christophe and that was years ago and had not felt nearly this overwhelming. Not to mention no matter how much Victor wanted to believe his dear friends devotedness was genuine, there was always the fact that he was on the family payroll and had a job to fulfill.

As the silence stretched out Victor knew he needed to say something, both to ease Yuuri’s fears and to clear his head, so he simply began babbling any little thing that popped into his mind. It was a habit he had found to be helpful over the years. Either Yuuri would understand and be able to help, or he would decide Victor wasn’t worth the time and effort.

“I want to believe your words are true, but how am I to know that they are? I know I was speaking of my love and devotion to you and those words should be true since I did not even know you were listening, but how do I know that I meant them? What if the words we speak tonight are gone by morning? I feel that they are true in my heart and I have never felt anything like this before but I fear that it comes too easily. Perhaps I am too easy. Do I seem too easy? I should put up more of a fight to keep you at bay I am sure, that would be the proper thing to do but I swear I do not want to. All the propriety and manners I learned flew out the window the second I saw you across the room. I suppose that becoming familiar with you so easily might make you think I would not be constant, that I might bend to anyone, but trust me, I will prove more true to you than those that have more cunning to be strange.”

A sound to his right distracted Victor, and he looked over and was greeted with a devastatingly handsome Yuuri with streaks of dirt on his face, leaves in his hair, and a look of delight in his eyes. Somehow during Victor’s speech he had silently climbed the wrought iron lattice panels that lined the walls of the compound to encourage vine growth. It was a project his mother had initiated and Victor had never loved her more. 

“I do not think you are too easy Victor Nikiforov. I think you are simply in love, as am I. I swear by every god…”” 

“Do not swear it by anyone. I do not know who I can trust right now other than myself. The best thing you can do is go, so I know you are safe and coming back to me another time when our excitement has settled.”

Rather than turning toward safety, Yuuri re-arranged his footing so he could carefully let go of the trellis in order to lean precariously out over the window in order to gently touch Victors cheek, brushing it reverently. Victor felt his breath catch and instantly the air between them returned again to that charged atmosphere from the dark hallway, as though they had never left. Yuuri moved another hair forward and whispered onto Victor’s lips.

“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”

Victor’s heart was pounding in his chest but he was not going to be so easily conquered this time. He was strong, he would not simply give in. He would show Yuuri that he could resist such temptation.

“What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?” Victor inquired.

A kiss. Please say a kiss. If Yuuri asked, out loud, that had to be more acceptable than just taking right? A proper courtship involved kissing, but only after proper consent. So if Yuuri would just ask…Victor felt himself unconsciously move forward in preparation to give that which Yuuri was sure to request.

Instead, Yuuri only grinned again.

“The exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.”

Oh. The tease. The nerve. The absolute thrill that Victor felt at those words. A vow? Of fidelity, of love, of marriage?

“I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: I said I would take your name, and I meant it. But not tonight, so get thee home. Saying all this tonight seems too rushed, and if it is as undeniable as we believe, then it will last until morning, when something can be done about it. So go, but return to me another day, and maybe our love will have grown by then, rather than wilted.”

Yuuri looked torn at the words, but nodded resolutely.

Victor reached out to push lightly on Yuuri’s chest, just enough to get across his point. As Yuuri simply smiled back they both heard the lock on Victor’s bedroom door click open and the handle turn.

Victor knew Christophe’s routine. He would enter with his back to the room to better hold the tray he carried, then place the items down on the table by the door to pour and mix the milk and tea and sugar. There was still time for Yuuri to sneak away. Yuuri must have sensed the same because Victor could feel him lean back, into the shadows and out of Victor’s garden. Possibly out of Victor’s life. Possibly never to return.

He wasn’t ready to say goodbye. He hadn’t truly realized it until he felt his own two hands, which seconds ago had been pushing Yuuri away now grab at his tunic and hold him in place. As the front door crept open and Christophe entered backward as usual, Victor pulled Yuuri toward him and tried to be as quiet as possible.

“Do not go - not yet. I will only be a minute. I will return. Please.”

He was sure that his eyes were begging, but Yuuri simply gave him a luminous smile and the briefest of nods before grabbing back onto the lattice and shimmying a few feet down so he was safely under the window and out of sight.

With that fear allayed, Victor was able to return to his parlor and accept his drink as quickly as possible. He assured Christophe that he was fine and needed nothing else and would be going to bed now so there was no need to stay.

He really should have known that would never work.

“Feeling better, Sirrah?”

“Yes, much better. Just tired really, so you should go.”

“That is good. I was worried you would still be thinking about that Katsuki, from the ball.”

Victor made sure to display the appropriate amount of disbelief.

“What? No, of course not! I have already forgotten him.”

It was difficult not to look over at the window to make sure Yuuri couldn’t be seen, but he managed to control himself. Barely.

Christophe went about the room, picking up stray articles of clothing and tidying stacks of books and papers while he continued to prattle rather than leave.

“That is such a relief Victor. I asked about in the kitchens and there are all sorts of rumors regarding him and your own cousin Yuuko, although others say she is off to give her life to the church. Still, his marriage will happen someday I suppose, and I wouldn’t want to see you having another reason to sulk about in your room. You really do need to get out more. How are you to find someone else who makes you happy if you never speak to anyone? At this rate you will be forced to marry, which I am sure you do not wish. Are you feeling alright Victor? You look quite pale all of a sudden.”

Victor easily believed that he was pale, since all blood and warmth had just left his body. At any point either of their families could dictate to them who to marry or where to go, and in such a way that gave them little other choice. His imagined future of a drawn out courtship from Yuuri like he read about in novels would slip right through his fingers and be gone.

Christophe seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

“Victor, do you understand? No matter how much you might want to pursue this exciting feeling, it is fleeting and potentially even dangerous. So please, go to the window and tell that impetuous boy to go back to his own people and quit chasing what he cannot catch before he gets himself killed.”

This time Victor was ready for the accusation. He kept his face calm and artfully furrowed his brow and looked naively confused. It was a look he had practiced over the years and worked quite well on suitors and parents alike.

Christophe just looked at him, sighed, and pointed to the front door. There Victor saw nothing unusual; just the door, closed for privacy, the oak vanity with Victors mask and various perfume bottles strewn about, the tray with his nightly milk and tea, and the large gold gilt mirror hanging above it all which reflected the entire window in it’s frame. Victor had never felt so foolish. Christophe must have seen the whole thing. Now he was giving Victor a chance to preserve his dignity and turn Yuuri away before everything fell to pieces. To cut off a romance before it could fully bloom. To live in a cold, respectable, loveless marriage to someone like Jean-Jacque and dream of what could have been.

Victor looked out the window and tried to puzzle it all though. He was supposed to be intelligent. He needed to look at the situation analytically for a moment. What was the ideal outcome, and what were the steps needed to make it a reality.

Victor had just told Yuuri that he wanted a longer courtship. Christophe pointed out that time was against them and the situation needed to be dealt with now. Naturally the solution then was to remove the danger of time running out. The courtship Victor imagined would have ended in a marriage proposal, would it not? Well, he and Yuuri had already reached that point somehow and it made no sense to gamble their futures together on a phantom notion that Victor wanted to chase.

If they were already married, with God's blessing given by the church itself - that sacred covenant would be difficult for their families to deny or tear apart. They could get to know each other better after they had secured their future together. Yes - that was the only logical course of action.

“You are right Christophe - I need to end this quickly. Tell me, do we have any plans tomorrow?”

“Not that I am aware of. It is a Monday after a party, most of the house will be in their beds nursing headaches for the day.”

“Good, then no one should notice that I have left to get married. I will need your help though. I will need you to find out where Yuuri has decided we should marry, and when. If he finds a place tomorrow we will do so as soon as possible, and you will need to be our witness. Can you do that for me?”

His oldest friend simply stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. Victor patiently waited for him to decide if he was friend or foe, fervently hoping for the former. His hopes were not misplaced as Christophe eventually blew out a breath and nodded his consent.

Victor ran to the window and found that Yuuri was clinging to the lattice still, as requested. Victor wasted no time in speaking his new desires.

“Yuuri, If you truly wish to marry than go find a place and a time and I will marry you. I will send my man to meet you tomorrow to relay your success in finding someone to perform the rite - I will give you my fortune and follow you to the end of the world if need be to make it happen. If you don’t, please end this here and now.”

Yuuri nearly fell off the lattice in his joy, trying to reach out to presumably hold Victor in some way. Their fumbled attempts were no use though, Yurri needed both hands to hold on and Victor could not lean far out the window. The moon was already heading toward the earth and soon the sun would begin its ascent. Their time together was growing short and Christophe had begun to call Victor back in. After hearing Yuuri’s last assurances that he was serious about his courtship, Victor let him go. He waited by the window to make sure that his husband-to-be made it down to the ground safely without breaking any limbs. No sooner did Yuuri skillfully blend into the gardens lingering shadows than did Christophe angrily call Victor’s name one last time, patience running out. When Victor asked what he needed, weary and tired now that Yuuri was gone, Christophe could only throw his arms up in exasperation.

“When and where exactly am I to meet your beloved to find out the information of your upcoming nuptials, my lord?”

Victor realized he had no answer to that and quickly ran back to fling the window open, frantically calling Yuuri’s name with all the subtlety of a loud morning bird. Yuuri quickly made himself known to avoid arousing suspicion with the guards that were still prowling. When Yuuri asked what he needed, Victor found he could only stare at his love, eyes searching like they were trying to memorize his features in case they never saw each other again. Then, from the back of the room he heard Christophe clear his throat, loudly.

“Oh, yes, what time should I send my man to you?”

“Nine o’clock”

Victor felt himself leaning once again, out the window into the cold so he could be just that much closer to Yuuri’s warmth. He knew there was something else he was supposed to ask but...

“I forget the words in my head when I am near to you. Yuuri”

“Then I shall have to stay here until you remember them”

“Then I shall have to keep forgetting so that you stay and never leave.”

“Then I shall have to stay near so that you keep forgetting, until I know no other home than here, next to you.”

They sat at the windowsill for a while more, lightheartedly flirting and trading silly metaphors. Now that the decision to get married was set in stone Victor found he was no longer as anxious about expressing his wishes for Yuuri to stay, even when he knew the man should leave. Eventually he had to though, the mission to find them a priest to perform the rites they both wished for the only force strong enough to pry him from the side of Victors window.

With a sweep of his nightgown and a toss of his hair Victor was back inside and the window shut. He nearly jumped at the unexpected sight of Christophe, all but forgotten, sitting at the vanity quietly sipping the drink that had been meant for Victor. He spoke slowly and patiently, as if to a child. Victor was instantly annoyed that his dear friend was bringing down his jubilant mood.

“Did you find out the information I needed to fulfill my mission, Victor?

“Yes, of course - by nine o’clock he should have an answer for you. I am going to be married soon Christophe! Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Yes Victor, wonderful. And did you find out where I am to meet him at nine o’clock, or am I simply supposed to guess, and hope to arrive at the correct place?”

Victor blanched and ran back to the window, cursing himself for being so forgetful and distracted. It was too late though, Yuuri was gone, and there was nothing to do but apologize and hope that the saints would hear his prayers and be kind to them tomorrow.

 

Emil paused in his telling to collect his thoughts and check on his sisters reaction. She was sat on the floor, completely forgot she was in the tomb of the two lovers whose story was unfolding. Her hands were wrung tight together around her apron and her eyes were wide and unblinking. When he did not immediately continue she leaned forward as though urging him to speak. Emil looked briefly at Michele, his brother under the lord, family in all but blood, and his heart panged to see his form still hunched over his rosary and head bowed. Michele was certainly taking this much seriously than expected, but when had he not been known to give his whole soul and responsibility to his work? Perhaps if Michele had been the one Yuuri and Victor had confided in. Perhaps he would not have made so many mistakes, or been so quick to act rashly as Emil had done. So many errors in judgement on all sides. Sara was still waiting for his words, but how much did he wish to reveal in his retelling?

Immediately he felt his conscious prick him. The mistakes had been his and it was on him to continue to speak them, each retelling an act of confession and contrition. It was God’s nature to forgive when one is truly contrite, and with each confession Emil felt his burden of being the only one who knew the truth lighten. He would tell the tale in its entirety. It would be unfair to stop now and leave poor Sara wondering. With a deep breath, he began again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record - there were no balconies in the time and place Romeo and Juliet was written. The original script does not reference a balcony. Be glad I added a trellis so they could at least think they could touch, otherwise they just kinda shouted at eachother un-stealthily from two separate floors.
> 
> There will be more - someday  
> *vanishes into the night*

**Author's Note:**

> *new notes 1/8/18   
> Soo, very few of you might be wondering why this is different. It is because I have been fiddling around and have in fact written more, which is now posted. I plan to write the whole thing, although I will skip anything I think is boring or do not want to write. So far the current plan is  
> prologue-2.2 Done  
> 2.3 ie The wedding - up for debate  
> 2.4 The fight is scheduled next unless you all really neeeeeeeed a sappy wedding.  
> 2.5-the end I will probably just skip to the tomb scene with a brief summary of events from Emil's perspective because in reality very few thing happen, its mostly whining and pining and wailing. 
> 
> There is no upload schedule - I might not finish for years. Sorry. I am having a baby and editing someone else's work and struggling to write. Hopefully the DVD release in feb will help me get super motivated. IDK.
> 
> *old notes  
> My readers, My loves, My dudes. I only had a month to do this, which is why there is only Act One. If you are familiar with the play you might be able to tell that I worked in a lot of foreshadowing and set up for act two, because I did originally plan to write it. Instead I ended up as a pinch hitter helping a second artists.  
> I would be interested in exploring Act two if there is enough interest in people reading it. I do not really want to do acts 3-5 though. too much whining and pining and wailing and stupidity. It would be really difficult for me to justify and write it.  
> If you want a cute balcony scene, a marriage, a street fight where phichit and yurio die, and a post-murder/post-coitus flirting scene, let me know below.  
> Likewise, if you feel I did everything wrong and you would have cast or planned this differently, I would love to know those opinions as well! Come yell at me on tumblr too @adrianasbusybrain
> 
> Also, check out the art by the fantastic @queenofthewesternwastes on tumblr here https://queenofthewesternwastes.tumblr.com/post/162478773370/


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